


contend, peacefully

by intimatopia



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Imagining Your Hot Traitor Boyfriend Killing You For Fun, Interrogation Room Redux, M/M, Unreliable Narrator, hypotheticals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27132079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimatopia/pseuds/intimatopia
Summary: One of the greatest regrets Akira had about the plan, in the end, wasn’t even how fragile it was—he trusted his team to carry it out. It was that he’d never know what went down that day.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 10
Kudos: 102





	contend, peacefully

**Author's Note:**

> wondernoise pointed out that akira doesn't actually remember akechi killing him and i went >:3 and wrote 2k in one night. thanks to everyone who gave me ideas for ways akira would imagine that going. and sorry to all the people i asked for help with titling this fic (i swear i spent longer on the title than on writing it) before settling on something that no one had suggested :/
> 
> check end notes for warnings

Even beaten and drugged and clinging to consciousness by his fingernails, Akechi would’ve been a welcome sight to Akira in that moment. Akira had seen how Akechi carried himself; cornered by people who hated him, he still exuded a certain casual control of his surroundings, an utter surety that everything was going according to his plans.

It was strangely comforting. Akira couldn’t imagine how much more terrifying that fragile plan they’d cooked up to save Akira’s life would’ve been with Akechi there to shore up its cracks—but they’d never have needed it, if not for him, so Akira tried not to dwell on it.

He always failed. Always ended up back in that moment, imagining Akechi stepping through the door. He’d grab the gun from the guard, swift and precise, point it at Akira.

And then he’d pause. “We could’ve been devastating on the same side,” he’d murmur.

“We still could be,” Akira would say.

That fragile light he’d only seen in Akechi’s eyes when they were alone would spark to life. And then Akechi would blink, and it would be gone again. “It’s too late,” he’d say softly, like he was trying to convince himself.

Akira would smile at him. He was sure of that, as sure as he was of Akechi’s grace. That Akechi’s worst moments would never spark anything but joy and familiarity.

Akira would smile at him, and Akechi would pull the trigger, and it would be over—

* * *

“We still could be,” Akira would say, and that fragile light he’d only seen in Akechi’s eyes when they were all alone would spark to life.

Akechi would lower the gun, slowly. “I should know better than to let you wreck my plans,” he’d laugh, and then shoot out the cameras. He wouldn’t miss, because he had the steadiest hands of anyone Akira had ever known. “But it looks like I’m feeling reckless today.”

He’d have to take his gloves off to pick the lock on the manacles (Sae’s palace, of course there’d be manacles). His fingers would be warm on the backs of Akira’s hands, fingernails bitten to the quick.

(That was cheating—Akira had come by that information later.)

Akechi wouldn’t help Akira up, even knowing what terrible shape Akira was probably in by that point. But he’d walk slow, and make sure the route they took got them out safely.

“I’m going to tell them you’re dead,” Akechi would tell him. “And you’re going to make sure no one thinks otherwise.”

“I knew I could rely on you,” Akira would say.

Akechi’s eyes would light up. But he wouldn’t reply, turning around and heading away without so much as a wave.

* * *

“So it’s just us again,” Akechi would say, once the guard was dead. “I wonder what I should do with you.”

“Whatever you like, detective,” Akira would say casually, leaning back in his chair.

Akechi would give him a careful look. “You look like you’re planning something,” he’d say. “Well, it’s not like I have a monopoly on manipulation.” He’d walk forward, circling the desk to lean against it, right by Akira’s side. Forcing Akira to look all the way up to meet his eyes.

His eyes, red and desperate and exhausted. “You look like there’s something you want,” Akira would murmur.

Akechi would lean down. He’d have to bend nearly in half with the way he was standing, but he’d do it. There was no distance he wouldn’t cross to meet Akira’s lips—but again, Akira hadn’t known that _then._

His lips would be soft with hazelnut chapstick and his mouth would taste like starving, and he’d kiss Akira like he was the one about to die.

Maybe he was. Akira would know the moment his mind was made up, because he’d feel the gun press against his neck. “Any last words?” Akechi would ask, clearly fighting to prolong this just a little longer.

“I think you’re beautiful,” Akira would tell him.

He’d feel Akechi pull the trigger—he’d feel it in his heart and in the angry sound Akechi would make against his mouth.

* * *

“I love you,” Akira would tell him, the first time in ten years Akechi had heard those words, and Akechi would sob as he pulled the trigger—

* * *

“You still have a choice,” Akira would tell him.

Akechi would laugh sardonically. “There are no choices with _him_.”

“None with me, either,” Akira would whisper, wrap the hand he’d freed while Akechi was distracted around the barrel and shove it aside. Akechi would shoot, but it’d bounce harmlessly off the wall, and Akira would grab the gun from him. “Alright, that’s it.”

He’d point the gun at Akechi. “You’re going to tell them I’m dead.”

“I’d tell them that anyway,” Akechi would sneer. “But they’re expecting a body.”

“Make something up,” Akira would order, and Akechi would resent him for it but he’d let Akira walk out unmolested.

* * *

“I wish you didn’t have to live with this,” Akira would tell him.

Akechi would pull away slightly, smiling that terrible tired smile of his. “What choice do I have?” he’d ask. “What choice have I _ever_ had?”

Akira would reach up (no manacles in this daydream), cradle Akechi’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Akechi would say, angry and full of knives, and pull the trigger.

* * *

Akira would reach up. There was no distance he wouldn’t cross to kiss Akechi. He’d kiss Akechi for what felt like hours, achingly aware of the passage of time, and then when he’d drunk his fill he’d press his forehead against Akechi’s. “Ready, love?” he’d whisper.

“Never,” Akechi would laugh, half-hysterical, and press the gun into Akira’s hand. “Kill me,” he’d beg, hoarse and quiet.

“I can’t live with that,” Akira would reply. He’d toss the gun aside, and hold his hand out to Akechi. “I could live with you, though.”

“Even knowing what I did?” Akechi would ask, ever unforgiving of himself.

“Even knowing you’d do it again,” Akira would promise.

Akechi would take his hand. They’d walk out together, side by side, because the world was full of fools to think a rivalry like theirs would ever succumb to death.

* * *

Akechi would steal the gun first. He’d never let anyone else hold a weapon when he didn’t have one himself. And, ever the drama queen, he’d sing out, “Sorry for the wait!” The guard’s eyes would widen in surprise. Akechi had him at gunpoint, and it wasn’t even the most exciting thing that had happened to him today. “I’m here to rescue you,” Akechi would add.

And then he’d smile, that feral smile that never boded well for anybody. “Is that what you thought I’d say?” he’d ask, and then he’d shoot.

Two shots in quick succession. 

* * *

And then that fucking smile, the one that still made Akira think about crashing through glass after all this time—“Is that what you thought I’d say?” Akechi would ask, before shooting.

“That’s what I knew you’d say,” Akira would answer. “You made me wait long enough.”

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” Akechi would admonish. “But we should get going.”

He’d gesture with the gun, and Akira would walk to the door. He’d reach for the handle to pull it open and hear another shot go off behind him—

* * *

But Akechi would never do it like that. Too difficult to pass off a shot to the back as suicide.

Still, a guy could dream, right?

* * *

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” Akechi would admonish. “Can you stand?”

It’d take a couple tries. Akira’s body hurt like hell. Akechi would watch, cool and unconcerned, until Akira got to his feet.

And then he’d shoot.

* * *

“Can you stand?” Akechi would ask, with a clumsy sort of concern in his voice.

Akira would haul himself up to his feet, using the table for support and then Akechi’s arm when it was offered to him. “You make a great prince,” Akira would sigh, leaning against him.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Akechi would say, even as he preened.

They’d walk out together, and Akechi would tell everyone he was dead. They’d walk out together, and kiss in the alley behind the building for long minutes while the night air stung Akira’s bruises.

* * *

Akechi would yell at him for taking this so lightly, but he wasn’t in Akira’s head and he couldn’t stop Akira from imagining the way Akechi would walk in, shoot the guard without a word before stalking over with that angry determination blazing in his eyes.

“You’ve never gotten a blowjob, have you?” he’d ask, and wouldn’t wait for an answer before tugging Akira’s pants down.

It should’ve been more difficult to get hard when he was freshly drugged and beaten, but it would’ve been a greater feat than Akira was capable of to _not_ get hard when he had Akechi on his knees in front of him.

“First and last time,” Akira would say ruefully, tangle his fingers gently in Akechi’s hair and watch him get to work.

He’d still shoot, but not before threatening to leave the fly of Akira’s pants undone so everyone would know what he’d chosen to do before he died.

* * *

Akira would watch, silent and baffled, as Akechi shot at the wall. Five times, and it would still take Akira a second to realize what Akechi was planning, and only when he released the revolver’s cylinder and spun it around. “Didn’t you learn your lesson from the takoyaki?” Akira would mock.

Akechi would glare at him. “It’s not my life on the line, so I’d watch it if I were you.”

“Not a fair game unless I get my turn too,” Akira would protest. “You’re already a better shot than me. C’mon, detective.”

“You’ll die anyway,” Akechi would sigh. “Whether at my hands or another’s.”

“I’d rather it be you too,” Akira would say, and smile when Akechi lifted the gun.

Shot one, blank. Akira’s turn.

He’d lift the gun, try to keep his hand steady and fail—the drug still messing with his control. “This _better_ not be like the takoyaki,” Akira would say, and grin when Akechi glared at him. “It’d be pretty fucked if I shot our last shot at the wall.”

“So like you to mess up something as simple as murder,” Akechi would snarl, and Akira would pull the trigger and never know if he’d have hit the mark. Another blank.

Akechi would take it back, and shoot at him twice before putting it down and kicking it to Akira.

And then it would be up to Akira how this ended. Two shots left, fifty-fifty to Akechi’s death. The only life in this room Akira gave any fucks about.

This time he’d shoot at the wall. Empty. Close his eyes for a brief moment. “You shot at the wall _five_ times, you fucking idiot.”

“I did that on purpose,” Akechi would snap. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

If Akechi only shot at the wall four times, though—

Still the last two shots, though one of his teammates would tell him the odds on that happening twice were pretty low. Akira thrived on low odds.

The last two shots, and Akira would smile at Akechi as he shot at the wall before throwing the gun back to him. “Last chance, detective,” he’d say. “Looks like you’ve got better luck this time around.”

“More’s the pity,” Akechi would say, and smile back as he pulled the trigger.

* * *

“So this is how your justice ends,” Akechi would muse, lowering the gun. “I suppose I should be less curious about you, considering that you won’t even be alive tomorrow. But I can’t help myself. You’ve always been quite interesting…”

“Surely we have time for one last conversation,” Akira would say.

Akechi would take Sae’s place opposite Akira. “Maybe we do. I wonder, though.”

“About what?” Akira would ask gently, because sometimes Akechi forgot other people weren’t in his head hearing his thoughts.

“I wonder what you’d do, if you never had any choices, or if you made all the wrong ones.”

“What did you do?”

Akechi would tell him. He’d tell Akira everything—about the boy who loved his mother and wasn’t loved in turn, about the way nobody ever had a place for him. How he’d been so desperate, once, that he’d signed away the one thing he held dear.

He’d tell Akira about how cruel the world was, how broken and beyond repair, that it couldn’t save someone who would’ve considered _any_ kindness a blessing.

He’d tell Akira everything.

“So this is how my justice ends,” Akira would muse, and pull the trigger himself.

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: imagined character death, non-graphic violence, implied sexual content, and suicide.
> 
> feel free to tell me other ways you think akira would imagine this going! i think there's a lot of potential here. i have a tumblr @ciaran and a twitter @faultwire. comments keep me going!


End file.
